


Trampled Under Foot

by sammichgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Baby, Led Zeppelin References, M/M, Masturbation, Oil, Post 3x16, Wincest - Freeform, alternate path to season 4, angsty hurty goodness, color inspo fic, memories of Dean, mention of the Boy King, not-quite-hallucination, pre-season 4, they were never in fact homeless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 00:56:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19140370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammichgirl/pseuds/sammichgirl
Summary: Sam promised Dean he'd take care of Baby. In changing her oil, he has a breakdown - and breakthrough - of his own.





	Trampled Under Foot

**Author's Note:**

> [Title from Led Zeppelin's song of the same](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ftknR1gf9qw)
> 
> Color Inspo Fic Series: Oil

Sam cursed as he brought the car slowly to a stop. He’d managed to get Baby off the road onto the gravel shoulder before she seized, but he figured he was at least a couple miles from the nearest town if he calculated correctly. And he hadn’t seen anyone else on this backroad for over an hour.

As he got out of the car he was hit with a wave of oppressive heat. The sun was already shining brightly in the cloud-free August sky, the day promising to be a predictable Midwest scorcher. Sighing wearily, he popped the hood to carefully double-check the dipstick. For the millionth time he felt an aching pull on his heart, reminding him that Dean wasn’t there. He’d have to do the oil change himself. He shook his head, berating himself for not catching the oil indicator level sooner. He could already hear Dean in his head, vocal and upset. _You promised you’d take care of her, Sam!_

He thought back to the months before that horrific day in New Harmony, Indiana. Dean had spent time building up what little auto knowledge Sam had, ensuring his little brother could take care of Baby, the only home they’d really known. Of course, in Dean’s patented big brother fashion, he’d also ‘taken care’ of Sam during lessons as a type of positive reinforcement, using multiple sinfully distracting methods. Playing mechanic really turned their cranks and Sam could only attribute that to their upbringing on the road with frequent do-it-yourself fixes learned from the occasional short-lived job in Podunk town bodyshops across America. Thin white cotton tanks with permanent perspiration rings, dirty stained overalls covered in oil and the grime of working underneath a lifted car left a lasting impression between them that was unusually stimulating.

With happier memories in mind instead of the usual wash of grief at the thought of his brother, Sam replaced the dipstick and shut the hood. He’d have to wait an hour or so before trying to complete the oil change, letting the engine cool down. He hunkered down on the gravel and leaned against the passenger door, trying to find some shady respite from the sun.   

After about twenty minutes, he took off his sweat soaked t-shirt and grabbed a beer from the green cooler perched on the backseat before languidly sliding back down to the ground. Condensation from the bottle ran down his bare chest, cool little drops hitting caramelized skin, running in rivulets towards his happy trail. He shivered at the sensation, swiping a hand across his abs and realizing just how long it had been since he’d enjoyed human touch – Dean’s touch – as  he accidentally skimmed over a nipple. 

Closing his eyes, Sam let his mind drift, thinking back on the last time he and Dean had enjoyed sex on the Impala. They’d been driving for hours and Sam had teased Dean by pleasuring himself, not holding back on breathy whimpers and moans; blown, glazed eyes fixed on Dean. When Sam had begun biting his lower lip until it turned that deep, cherry shade his brother loved so much, Dean finally broke, swerving and going off-road. In the dead of night, under a cloudless sky, Dean had taken Sam apart piece by tortuous piece while pinning him to the hood. Sam may have been taller and a bit bigger, but Dean was all hard muscle and knew just how to manhandle him. Sam had loved Dean hovering over him, keeping him restrained, knowing Sam’s pleas to stop because they were in public were anything but real. 

Dean had wasted no time in getting Sam naked and then sloppy open on his tongue, not a care in the world to anyone that might drive by. The hood had been hot, not quite searing Sam’s skin but adding to the pleasure/pain line he was riding that had turned him into a writhing mess of need. When Dean had slid into him and bottomed out, Sam thought he might come from the perfect fullness alone, he was so close. Before he could lift his hips for any bit of friction, Dean had grabbed the base of his cock, denying his orgasm. Dean fucked him slowly, thoroughly, dirty talk filling the night sky as Sam’s dick was stroked and lightly pulled, balls rolled and feather light kisses pressed along his hipbones. In between the spewed filth Dean laved his tongue across the full hard cock in his hand, licking beads of precome away as he teased. Only when Sam was in tears from teetering so close to the edge did Dean pull back before picking up his pace, pounding against Sam’s prostate and letting go of Sam’s dick simultaneously, allowing Sam to fall into bliss, come shooting up over his own chest and face as his hips were finally free to bounce along with his cock. Sticky strings of come covered a fully debauched Sam as Dean leaned back and smiled down adoringly. _So fucking hot, Sammy._

Just remembering that night had Sam stirring in his jeans as a different kind of warmth filled him. The possibility that tonight wouldn’t end in whiskey and tears again gave him hope; he hadn’t felt aroused in so long. Eager to get the oil change done so he could get back on the road and into an air conditioned yet typical sleazy motel room, he ignored the twitch in his pants and tried to focus on the task at hand.

Making sure the engine was cool enough – just slightly warm to the touch, he grabbed an empty bottle and funnel from the trunk and the spare oil they always kept on hand. _See Dean, I remembered._ He didn’t have a new filter though, so he’d need to do proper maintenance when he got into town. After. After a solitary night that maybe this time would give him a restful sleep from satisfying exhaustion.

He slipped his t-shirt back on to lay down in the gravel, then shimmied his way under the car to access the drain plug. He maneuvered the bottle and funnel below the drain, then reached up to deftly unscrew the plug, allowing the oil to drain. Forgetting to cover his fingers with a rag, he felt warm oil trickle down and quickly yanked his hand back so the funnel would catch the rest.

He rubbed his fingers together, breath hitching as the slick glided between them easily. With the car over him, he was pinned, in a fashion, underneath. He could feel himself chubbing up even more in his jeans, a blush spreading across his face as he slid back out, his thoughts running rampant.

Propping up Baby’s hood, he removed the filler hole on the engine, wincing at the state the current filter was in – sludgy, dirty oil and the rubber seal had been worn very thin. Trying hard not to think of Dean beating his ass for not being 100% prepared, he fished a cleaning rag from the trunk and wiped down around the hole to clean out the built up gunk.

He sat down next to Baby’s bumper while he waited for the residual oil to finish draining and wiped his fingers clean. There was still some slip to his fingers and he sat in a heated daze, mind adrift on memories as he listened to the slow drip from under the car.

Sam’s jeans were damp with sweat, his t-shirt soaked through. The sun was blazing in the sky, and there wasn’t much of a breeze to be had. Given that he still hadn’t seen another car on the road, he really was completely alone. And sweltering. Without another thought to it he unbuttoned his jeans, lifted his hips, and slid them down and off, thankful to be rid of the heavy denim that would inevitably chafe his moist skin if he kept moving around in them. He tossed them aside, hoping they’d dry out in the heat as he attempted to wiggle back under the car. He moved quickly, the gravel leaving tiny burning pinpoints along his legs that on most people would be agonizing. Sam’s psyche however, fed that into his need for a bit of masochism, and the zing of arousal he felt earlier continued to grow, a slow burning fire in his groin.

Once he was again under Baby and shaded from the sun, he closed his eyes for a minute to let them adjust. He realized his cock had fully engorged and he could feel it resting thick along his hipbone, straining against the boxer briefs he wore.

Trying to keep his mind on finishing with the car, he used his hand to wipe around the drain plug, having forgotten the rag still laying above on the engine. Carefully leaning over and shifting on his back a bit to reach, he carefully moved the bottle of remnant oil and funnel to the edge of the car, then replaced the plug, tightening it as much as he could with his clean hand.

He stilled when he felt a sticky wetness drip down his hipbone. Tilting his head he could see his underwear had been pulled down at some point with him moving around, just enough that his cockhead was peeking out. And pulsing precome.

The want and need he’d been pushing to the back of his mind practically since he’d pulled over burst through. His mind was on a loop of _Dean_ and _touch_ and _grief_. He slid his hand down to his cock, forgetting it was covered in oil as he toyed with the head. The slipperiness eased his way as he stroked it slowly, pushing down his underwear completely with his other hand, giving him more room to work. Sam had never been one for keeping quiet when it came to sex and he moaned, months of missing a piece of his own soul crying out. 

Feeling his orgasm building, he switched hands, never losing tempo as he jacked himself. His cock was slick, motor oil and precome giving much needed ease of friction. He moved his now well-lubed hand back, slightly shifting his hips sideways and up to reach behind. As one finger circled his hole, another breached it, working itself in a bit at a time. Sam’s breathing was irregular, his heart pounding as his hips were now caught between the gravel below and the engine above him. Effectively trapped as he pleasured himself, memories like a montage played in his mind; every delicious, wicked moment he and Dean had spent together in this car, on the car, against the car. Dean and his hands, a mechanic of Sam’s body. Dean and his sinfully kinky ideas and sensual smirk. Dean, looming large over Sam his entire life. His brother, his lover. _Dean. DEAN._

As Sam’s middle finger reached his prostate and began rubbing, he stuttered, letting go of his stiff cock as his hips jerked in response. The pinpricks of light behind his eyes were coming faster. He could hear Dean whispering to him, could feel Dean’s arms holding his shoulders down, thick fingers grabbing his hips so tight he knew he’d feel the bruises for days.

_That’s it Sammy, ride it out. Look so good, Sam, so full of me, you need this don’t you, need me filling you up. Damn we’re a perfect fucking fit, Sammy. You were just made for me, weren’t you? Come on little brother, do it, let it go, come for me._

Sam tipped over into pleasure, crying, a hoarse shout of “Dean!” as he came, shooting hot and fast. His hips scraped the engine as they dropped back down to the ground, his spent cock bobbing in the sticky mess left across his abdomen and groin. Sam floated on the rush of oxytocin, post-orgasm hazy, blinking in bliss and confusion.

Everything in him coalesced on his brother. Thoughts, need, desire, love, loss and anger. Dean was here, was with him somehow but not. No. Dean _wasn’t_ here. Dean wouldn’t be here. Dean was –

Dean was in Hell.

Sam couldn’t stop the breakdown that memory brought on as sorrow slammed into him. His mourning had been muzzled by drinking and fighting; not dealing was how he dealt. And right now, on the side of some back country road, alone with no vice at the ready was where he was finally going to face it. Debauched, wrecked, and half naked underneath the car that was never just a car Sam tried to catch a breath between sobs, his entire soul flayed and raw.

For over an hour he laid under the car as he smashed his fists into the gravel and grated his knuckles along the metal pipes above him in rage. He cried himself dry, the scorching heat and exertion not helping. He railed against God, threatened to do whatever it took to bring Dean back. Crossroads demons weren’t willing to deal. There was only one thing left he could think of, one lead he had been reluctant to try. It was a path he knew he shouldn’t follow – but this was for _Dean_.

Sam was going to march right into Hell and pull his brother out. Damn the entire world if that’s what it came to. It wasn’t worth living otherwise. He was supposed to be the fucking Boy King, right?  

Shimmying back out into the sun-filled day he mindlessly cleaned himself up with the dirty engine rag. It took another half hour to complete the oil change, and he did so practically on autopilot. He had places to get to and a plan to set in motion. 

Pulling out onto the road, he relaxed into the driver’s seat. Dean’s seat. A crappy motel, a hopefully hot shower, and a good comfort food type of meal were up next. Then a real night’s sleep – alcohol free. He popped in a worn cassette tape from the shoe-box under his usual seat and cranked the volume.

_Check that heavy metal_

_Underneath your hood_

_Baby, I can work all night_

_Believe I got the perfect tools_

_Talking 'bout love_

_Talking 'bout love_

_Talking 'bout_

 

_Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yes, I'm coming through_

_Come to me for service_

_Every hundred miles_

_Baby, let me check your points_

_Fix your overdrive_

_Talking 'bout love_

_I'm talking 'bout love_

_I'm talking 'bout_


End file.
